The TRUTH About Frodo
by Elly And The Gundam Wing Fan
Summary: Who ever knew that Frodo was such a problem child? Not slash.
1. Concerning Troublesome Hobbits

Disclaimer: We don't own the Fellowship, or the one ring… otherwise, we'd rule you all… and in the darkness bind them.  But ANYWAY…

This is dedicated to all the enthusiasts who actually tried to walk on snow after seeing the movie.  Here's to you!  (Not like we did that or anything… besides we were too heavy.)

The Legacy of… 

**The TRUTH About the Ring!!**

Chapter 1 

            Frodo Baggins: A responsible hobbit.  Considerate, trustworthy, nice, compassionate, and in general, a fun guy… or so you THOUGHT!

The TRUTH About Frodo!! 

            "What are we going to _do_ with him?" Drogo Baggins despaired.  His only son, Frodo (age 3), was ripping out the neighbor's flowerbed… again.  "Frodo!  Stop that!"

            The tiny hobbit galloped to his father's side obediently and stared with wide, innocent eyes.

            "What did I tell you about destroying other people's property?" Drogo scolded wearily.

            Young Frodo looked thoughtful.  "The _Tooks_ did it!"

            "There are no Tooks living in Brandy Hall… and I _saw_ you ruin those flowers."

            Frodo didn't concede to the logic… and the insanity wore on…

            And on… and on… and on…

            Years later:

            "Please take him, Bilbo, please!" Drogo and Primula pleaded with their relative.  "You're the only one who can handle our Frodo, what with your adventures with dragons and all!"

            "He can't be _that_ much of a terror, can he?" Bilbo realized the understatement as a clattering sound erupted from his cozy bag-end kitchen.

            "The Tooks did it!" A small voice (belonging to someone age 10 or 11) drifted to them.

            "Why does he do that?" Primula looked pale.  "_I_ never taught him to blame others… particularly the Tooks."

            "Neither did I.  But it's out of our hands now." Drogo said.  "Won't you take him, Bilbo?  Aren't you tired of living all alone in this great big hobbit-hole?"

            Bilbo considered the potential of having someone permanent around, keeping him company.  He figured a young hobbit like Frodo would become docile enough with the promise of good stories (complete with dragons and dwarves) and he began to feel that this might be a wonderful idea.  But then he witnessed his curtains being torn from the wall, cascading to the floor fluidly.  Frodo offered a small grievance about the Tooks as he scrambled away from the curtains, seeking his next prey.

            "We'd never ask for anything again." Primula promised blandly, watching a new disaster unfold in the sitting room.

            "Keep him for just a while," Drogo reasoned.  "A trial period.  And if it doesn't work out you can send him right back to Brandy Hall and you'll never have to bother with the affair again!  Just do this little thing for us, Bilbo."

            Moving swiftly, Bilbo retrieved a flying book, placing it back onto his mantelpiece carefully.  "Very well.  We'll see what a nice quiet life in Hobbiton will do for Fro-"

            "Darn Tooks!" A very convincing lament explained the tossing of the book.

            The exhausted parents thanked Bilbo profusely, promising him all their help and support whenever he might look for it.  Naturally, they both split town the next day, changed their names and were never heard from in the Shire again.  A clever little tale was devised which spoke of their unfortunate drowning, undoubtedly fabricated by Drogo and Primula themselves to throw off the trail.

            Years passed, and Frodo proved a difficult child in the beginning.  But with Bilbo's guidance, and a few calm friends to accompany him, he soon became a respectable member of hobbit society, even shaking the nasty habit of blaming random (or not so random) occurrences on the Tooks… although extreme cases would bring out the mysterious habitude from time to time.

            He took to frolicking all over the Shire with some friends, including Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took… the latter of which often rekindled Frodo's bad Took-blaming manner.

            Eventually, Bilbo left Hobbiton and Frodo inherited bag-end and most of the old hobbit's possessions… including a rather shiny gold ring that some wizard named Gandalf liked to rant about.  Frodo would have to admit that he just tuned-out Gandalf's endless chattering about what appeared to be a boring piece of jewelry, but he was good at _pretending_ to listen.

            "Keep it secret!  Keep it safe!" Gandalf advised.

            "Uh-huh." Frodo replied brainlessly, stirring the soup he was making for dinner.

            "Do not behave suspiciously!"

            "Uh-huh."

            "And be wary of whom you seek friendship and counsel!"

            "Uh-huh." The hobbit began searching the pantry with a bored expression.

            "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you, Frodo?"

            "Uh-huh."

            "We may be facing grave disaster… peril… oh the _horror_!"

            "Uh-huh.  Staying for some soup, Gandalf?"

            But the wizard did not stay for dinner!  And he was not back for breakfast or lunch the next day!  Or second-breakfast and supper and teatime and picnic in the sun.  He missed seventeen years of desserts and midnight snacks and really yummy banana bread that tastes oh-so-good with brunch.  In short, he took some snacks for the road and didn't return to the Shire for a while.

            Seventeen years later:

            "Is it secret?!  Is it safe?!" Gandalf broke into bag-end to deliver those heartfelt words.

            "Eep!" Frodo jumped.  "All these years in Middle-Earth and you've never learned to knock!"

            "Where is the ring?"

            "Huh?"

            "The _ring_!"

            "Gandalf!" Frodo noticed.  "You have become old and… gray…"

            The wizard looked rather tormented.  "I've always been gray.  You weren't paying attention seventeen years ago."

            "Seventeen years!" The hobbit looked panicked.  "Oh my god, the soup's still on!" He hustled to the stove, and sure enough, his soup remained, moldy and boiled over.  "This must be Pippin's doing!"

            "Forget the soup.  I have some pre-apocalyptic mumbo-jumbo to fill you in on so you might embark on an epic adventure!"

            There was painful silence.  "So then… you want some toast, then?"

            "No!  This is serious!  We're talking about the end of the world, and all of our hopes might just rest on _you_!"

            Another awkward silence.  "Well if you're holding out for dessert just tell me.  I have some lovely, fresh cakes in the oven!"

            A muffled sound of delight wafted through the open window.  Without warning, Samwise Gamgee bolted into the kitchen, opening and peering into the oven hopefully.

            "Er… hello?" Frodo took a step backwards, noticing the unpleasant smell erupting from the open stove.

            "Ewww!" Sam exclaimed, slamming the oven door shut again.  "Those cakes are at least five years old!  I thought you said they were fresh!"

            "I don't remember saying that to you… who are you and what are you doing in my nice clean kitchen!?"

            "I will now make a few points!" Gandalf seized the opportunity.  "Firstly, this is Sam, and you hired him years ago as a gardener!"

            "Oh yeah." Frodo looked relieved.  "You've aged the way my soup did!"

            "HEY!"

            "Secondly, your kitchen is a terrible mess, and couldn't be considered clean by the sloppiest of trolls."

            "Oh yeah.  I guess that means I never hired a housemaid?"

            "And thirdly, YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO MY FREAKY STORY!" The wizard demanded.  "Both of you sit down and stop being stupid."

            Thusly, Gandalf told scary stories to Frodo and Sam, depicting a rather horrible foe in Mordor who wanted the shiny ring to take over the world with.  It didn't seem to make any sense, but in the end, Frodo and Sam agreed to journey a ridiculously long journey without guide or proper rations.  And then they shrugged and departed.  (But not before stuffing the pot of soup into a sack and bringing it along.)

            The road was long and smelly (thanks to the moldy soup), but the Shire is nice and Frodo and Sam had a good time marching through the scenery.  They crossed a field and then…

            "Mr. Frodo, where'd you go!?" Sam freaked out, searching left and right.  The view was mostly blocked by Farmer Maggot's corn stalks.

            Frodo waltzed back into Sam's sight carrying a load of carrots and cabbages.  "I'm right here!  I didn't go anywhere… and would you mind reminding me who you are?"

            "_Frodo_!" Sam gasped.  "How could you steal that food?"

            "I…" He tried to explain that he had been a rotten child and still had problems suppressing his bad habits from time to time.  "Well… I didn't…"

            Sam looked unconvinced as Merry and Pippin came strolling by.

            "You see," Frodo continued, shoving the armful of vegetables into a very surprised Pippin's hands.  "_Pippin_ did it!"

            "Eh?" The Took blinked at him.

            "Er… how exactly do you explain that, Mr. Frodo?" Sam looked confused.

            "Tooks are nothing but trouble.  Shame on you, you food thief!" Frodo looked disgusted.

            "What the?" Merry scrutinized the scene.  "What are you doing?"

            "Woof woof!" A vicious sound blared from someplace nearby.  "Snarl, woof!"

            "Those are Farmer Maggot's mean dogs!" Sam said as he abandoned the other hobbits in favor of dashing away.  "They catch thieves!"

            Frodo followed closely, yelling to the hounds.  "Pippin did it!!"

            And so the four hobbits fled, and (according to Peter Jackson's interpretation) Merry and Pippin decided to follow Frodo and Sam to Bree for absolutely no good reason.

            "I think we should follow you guys for no good reason." Merry said.

            "Sounds like a plan!" The others agreed.

            Now would be a good time to point out that Tolkien's trilogy amasses over one thousand pages including appendixes and fancy fonts.  I have no intention of writing thousands of pages, and fancy fonts don't upload well, so in short, I'm going to skip ahead now.

            Abridged section: They get to Bree.  Frodo boogies on a table and draws too much attention.  Strider scolds the living daylights out of all of them.  Butterbur thinks he remembers something but… nah.  Black Riders are foiled by Strider's (or is that Aragorn's?) clever plotting.  They leave Bree.

            _Really_ abridged section: Walking.  More walking.  Uh-oh!  Black Riders with swords.  Weathertop.  OUCH!  Athelas.  Horse.  Galloping.  Defiant last stand.  Big-old wave.  Bye-bye, Black Riders.

            Ridiculously condensed abridged section: Rivendell.  Council.  Dwarf-guy.  Elf-guy.  Shifty human-guy.  Wizard-guy.  Fellowship.  Tootsie Rolls.  Mt. Doom.  Whatever.  "I will take the ring… although I do not know the way… because of _Pippin_!"  They go.

            Anyway, the Fellowship started their perilous journey, questioning Frodo's sanity every now and again.

            "Why'd you put that stone there, Pippin?!" Frodo fumed upon stubbing his toe on a rock.

            Pippin looked mildly shocked, but he was becoming accustomed to these outbursts.  "I didn't.  It was already there."

            "Stop pestering the ring-bearer!" Gandalf ordered.

            "But I…"

            "Yeah!" Frodo interrupted.  "Stop bugging me."

            Merry looked cross.  "Is this some kind of conspiracy or something?  Pippin didn't do anything!"

            "We should make camp here." Legolas announced.

            "Eh?  We've only been traveling a couple hours." Gimli reasoned.

            "Are we breaking for thoughtful conversation?" Gandalf asked.

            "Is it time to polish our nifty swords?" Aragorn looked pleased.

            "Second breakfast?" The hobbits asked.

            "Pit-stop?" Boromir asked.

            "No," Legolas responded calmly.  "There is a piece of dirt on my face.  I must cease marching for a time and wash my face multiple times so that I am shiny and beautiful again."

            Everybody looked disgusted.

            That night, after Legolas had called a timely halt for pedicures, Frodo snuck off into the dark of the night all by himself, and unnoticed by the rest of the Fellowship.  He returned very soon, whistling innocently and went to sleep.

            "We should all vote on whether we go over Caradhras or through Moria." Aragorn informed the sun-stricken party.  "Let's see hands for Caradhras.  Remember, _I_ think the mountain is a better way to go."

            Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas raised their hands.

            Gandalf sighed.  "You fools.  Moria is _clearly_ the better route.  Hands for Moria?"

            Gandalf, Gimli, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin raised their hands.

            The ranger counted carefully while Gandalf looked smug.  "Hm.  Well… short people don't count.  We're going up the mountain."

            "HEY!" Gimli growled.  "We're not short!"

            "Yeah," Frodo sniffed.  "We're vertically challenged."  And then he shot a sideways glance.  "Did you have something to do with that, Pippin?!"

            "What, with our being _short_?" Pippin answered.

            "We're not short!" Gimli repeated.  "Everybody else is just… just…"

            "Taller than you." Legolas filled in, looking stuck-up.  "Now come.  We must continue our quest."

            And they _did_!

            "What'd I _tell_ you!" Gandalf accused Aragorn.  "Coming up this mountain was a _bad_ idea."

            The snow on Caradhras was well over four feet high, consequently looming over the shorter… I mean 'vertically challenged' members of the Fellowship.

            "Better than crawling through some stinky old cave," Aragorn retorted.  "I wouldn't even be doing this if the fate of the entire world didn't depend on this quest… and the Ring.  I'd be at home watching Friends, dang it!"

            "It's true." Boromir looked at the miles of snow angrily.  "If it weren't for the Ring-"

            "Dang it!" Frodo interrupted.  "We forgot the Ring."

            "WHAT?!" Gandalf fumed.  "What do you mean we _forgot_ it?"

            "That's nothing!" Sam looked miserable.  "I forgot rope.  I know I'll need it if I haven't got it."

            Everybody looked at him sourly.

            "I think I saw the ring last when we were camping outside Rivendell.  You know, when Legolas was doing everybody's fingernails?" Frodo explained.

            "I remember." Gimli groaned.  "Why did you have to use _pink_, you worthless elf?!"

            Legolas shrugged.  "It's your color."

            Gandalf threw up his hands.  "There's nothing for it.  We'll have to go scour the countryside now, and just hope that evil hasn't reached the Ring of Power yet.  But I am terribly disappointed in this irresponsibility."

            "Pippin did it." Frodo said quickly.

            "What?  I didn't…"

            "What were you _thinking_, man?" Gandalf scolded.  "I should toss you off this mountain!"

            Frodo snickered.

            "But I didn't do it!" Pippin protested.  "I spent that whole day trying to scrape off Legolas' nail polish!"

            "Do not lie to me!"

            And so they went _all_ the way back down.

            "That's insane." Boromir shaded his eyes against the sun as he gazed upwards.  "It's impossible."

            "Pippin… how did you _do_ that?" Frodo shook his head scornfully.

            "I tell you I _didn't_!" Pippin was also looking up.  "I couldn't do _that_!  I'm afraid of heights!"

            "Wow." Sam could barely see the glint of the Ring, high above everybody's heads.  "I've never seen a ring in a tree before!"

            "Oh, I have." Aragorn said snootily.  "I've seen _everything_."

            "Shut up." Gimli looked annoyed.  "You have _not_ seen a Ring of Power in a tree.  Especially not at the very top of one of the tallest trees in Middle Earth."

            And so it was.  Legolas had spied a golden glimmer on the tip of a tall tree and had identified it as the wayward ring.  How it got up there was a great mystery to them all… except maybe Frodo, but he wasn't telling.

            "This is a puzzle without an answer." Gandalf said.  "What we really should be pondering is how to get the Ring down again."

            "I can do it." Gimli shouldered his axe.  "We're only one or two chops away from reclaiming that ring!"

            "Why don't you let me shoot it down?" Legolas whined.  "I haven't gotten to shoot anything for _days_!"

            "We could lose the Ring either way." Aragorn reasoned.  "I will _climb_ the tree."

            "Fools." Gandalf muttered.  "There is an _easy_ solution."

            Frodo looked teary eyed.  "I want my Ring of Power back!"

            "Don't worry, Mr. Frodo." Sam said helpfully.

            Frodo glared at him suspiciously.  "Who in Middle Earth _are_ you, anyway?  And why have you been following us around?"

            As might be suspected (if this was more like the _real_ books) Sam was devastated.  "Your faithful servant and friend, Samwise Gamgee!"

            "Never heard of him."

            Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn argued heatedly over the best method of retrieving the ring.  They compromised in the end, and decided they would have a free-for-all, and whoever got to the ring first would get the others' share of Tootsie Rolls.  "May the best man win." Aragorn said.

            "You mean best elf."

            "Best _dwarf_!"

            "And… _go_!" Merry waved a little flag, signaling the competitors to begin.

            Aragorn sprinted to the base of the great tree, scaling it easily.

            Legolas began to take precise aim of the miniscule target, knowing well that a slight miscalculation would lose him all the Tootsie Rolls in his backpack.

            Gimli took long, powerful strokes with his axe against the tree.

            "This is insane." Boromir said to the hobbits.  "Does this seem like a bad idea to anybody else?"

            "We should have made Frodo get it back." Pippin looked crankily at the ring-bearer.  "_He_ put it up there in the first place, you know."

            "You did it, and you know it." Frodo said quietly.

            "Almost have it!" Aragorn had reached an unstable part of the tree and was trying to compensate for the swaying (partially from the wind, partially from Gimli's efforts).

            "Wind conditions…" Legolas muttered.  "Carefully… precisely… perfectly… hey, there's dirt on my _bow_!" He brought out a rag from his sack and started cleaning the bow.

            "Hah!" The dwarf chopped enthusiastically.  "This tree has more strength to it than I thought!"

            "I'm never going to see my Ring of Power again." Frodo frowned at the spectacle.

            "Worry not." Gandalf said suddenly.  "I see the solution has arrived."

            "Success!" Aragorn announced.  "I win!"  He reached for the Ring slowly, ignoring the great shadow that passed over the land.

            "Success!" Gimli held his axe over his head.  "Never before has such a tree been felled so quickly!"

            "Success!" Legolas released the singing arrow.  "Never before has an arrow been fired with such precision!"

            Gandalf shook his head.  "Kids these days."

            Just as Aragorn began to close his hand around the small jewelry, a talon snatched it from his reach and carried it away.  "No!"

            And then Legolas succeeded.  The arrow embedded itself in the tip of the tree trunk… which in turn helped Gimli to succeed, because the tree couldn't take anymore stress.

            "Hm." Boromir smirked.  "The mighty king of Gondor, eh?"

            "Ahhhh!" Aragorn held on tight as the tree tipped over to the ground.  The thud was felt all the way in Lothlorien.

            "I can feel it in the earth." Galadriel clasped her hands together and gazed out into the eternal evening of the wood.  "I smell it in the wind.  I sense it in the very essence of Middle Earth." She paused for dramatic effect.  "Indeed, I even _read _it in the script.  I perceive that a great tree has fallen… by means of a single arrow… the most precise ever shot… and a great axe… such strength!  But ah, pity the fool who was _in_ that aged tree." She closed her eyes.

            "What is it you speak of?" Celeborn regarded her.

            "I believe we shall learn more of this.  But make no mistake… it was a _kingly_ thud that I felt."


	2. Concerning Troublesome Questing

            "I'm okay!" Aragorn announced from beneath the fallen tree, speaking around the branches and spitting out a few twigs.

            "Thank you again, my friend." Gandalf spoke calmly as Gwaihir the Eagle lord dropped the Ring neatly in front of Frodo's big feet.  Well, they're big feet compared to the rest of him.  That is, compared to _human_ feet.  They might not seem all that large if you didn't take into consideration general body-size.  I mean, for a hobbit, those are pretty sizable feet… although they probably don't look at them as expansive themselves, since _everybody_ has giant feet.  All hobbits, I mean.  Maybe they're not so gargantuan after all?

            "This little interlude isn't exactly politically correct, is it?" Frodo raised his eyebrow, irritated.  "My feet aren't _that_ colossal."

            Would you prefer it if I said Gwaihir dropped the ring neatly in front of Frodo's hairy feet?

            "I think I preferred the mammoth-sized feet insults."

            Good.  Gwaihir dropped the ring neatly in front of Frodo's stupendous, jumbo, titanic, monstrously immense feet!  (This moment brought to you by Elly's thesaurus.)  And did I mention they were hairy?

            "Can we stop talking about my _feet_, please?  Talk about Pippin's feet."

            Gwaihir didn't drop a ring neatly in front of Pippin's feet, though.  And besides, I already used up all my favorite 'big' words.

            "Then get on with it!" Frodo looked mildly hurt.  (I would too if my feet were so vast… hey there's another one!)

            Gwaihir responded with a shriek and disappeared into the horizon.

            "Oh!" Frodo plucked the Ring off the ground, nonchalantly measuring his feet with a ruler.

            "That was insane." Boromir said.

            The wizard responded, "Indeed.  Let us make sure nothing of the sort happens again… or this is going to be a _long_ quest."

            "Pippin did it!" Frodo persisted.

            "If you say that again, I'm going _home_!" The other hobbit looked annoyed.

            "Fine." Frodo studied his fingernails (brightly decorated by Legolas).  "But don't blame me when orcs capture you and torture you in their lairs."

            "That would happen?"

            "Probably." Aragorn nodded casually.

            "To Moria!" Gandalf decided.  "I think we all agree that Caradhras is bad luck."

            "Fine." They all consented.

            And again I use the wonder known as: abridgment: They all go to the entrance of Moria, the dwarven kingdom.  There is a door and it requires a password!  (How original.)  There is a blatantly mysterious pond right beside the door.

            That's going to take forever.  Let's get right to the point: Speak friend and enter!  Rocks.  Bubbles.  Open!  Poor dwarves.  Octopus-thingy!  Poor Frodo!  Stuck.  Tootsie Rolls.  "Pippin did it!"  Lost.

            "Hey you… what's your name?"

            "It's me… Sam!"

            "Whatever, fella." Frodo ignored the despondent expression of the hobbit who had been trying darn hard to be his friend the entire journey.  "Whose feet are bigger?  Mine or Pippin's?" He was sitting on the cold cave floor with his big feet up against the Took's for easy comparing.  "Well?"

            "I'd have to say… Pippin's." Sam sniffled.

            "Who asked _you_… who _are_ you?" Frodo looked up as though he just noticed Sam for the first time.  "Go away!  And didn't I tell you, Pippin?  Huh, huh?"

            "Well naturally." Pippin reasoned.  "I'm taller than you, so my feet would most likely be bigger."

            "Taller?!" Frodo looked stunned.  "That's not fair!  I command you to hunch down for the rest of this adventure!"

            Sam ventured to try his luck again.  "That's not reason, Mr. Frodo.  Who cares who's taller?"

            "Aiiiieeee!" The ring-bearer freaked out.  "Who is this stalker!?  How do you know my name?!"

            Merry smacked his forehead with his palm.  "It's _Sam_, your servant!  The only person (or hobbit, or dwarf, or elf, or wizard) in all the world who actually _likes_ you!"

            "It's true, Mr. Frodo." Sam agreed hopefully.

            "So, like," Frodo scrunched his eyes in deep concentration.  "Servant… servant… Oh!  You're Molly my hairdresser?"

            "No… I'm the gardener.  And your friend, too."

            "Don't tell me, let me guess!  Ah!  Bilbo, my butler?"

            "Bilbo is your _relative_." Merry corrected.  "You know, your patron, benefactor, supporter?"  (A/N: Another moment thanks to Elly's thesaurus.)

            "So you must be Legolas, my personal masseuse?"  (A/N: Stop dreaming, girls.)

            "You have a masseuse?!" Boromir, who had previously been ignoring the short people's… I mean, vertically challenged people's discussion in favor of amusing himself by flicking the back of Aragorn's tunic, and then whistling innocently, became suddenly interested.  (A/N: What a run-on sentence!  Yay me!)  (A/N: What a bunch of author's notes!  Yay me!)

            "I am _not_ your personal masseuse!" Legolas responded without gracing any of the un-elfs with actual eye contact.

            "_So_!" Frodo exclaimed, accusingly.  "You're _not_ Legolas, my personal masseuse?  Why did you _lie_, man?"

            "I never said I was." Sam gave up and slumped on the ground in the midst of the group.  They were patiently waiting for Gandalf to pick one of three directions, one of which invariably would lead them out of this tomb.

            "It's been a few hours, Gandalf." Aragorn pressed gently, suddenly whirling around to find Boromir whistling off-key.  "And," He continued speaking to the wizard, while making threatening glances at the flicking offender.  "I think we'd better be on our way."

            "Patience!  Patience!" Gandalf insisted haughtily.  "I have lost my way-"

            "Pippin did it!" Frodo interrupted.

            "Ahem.  I have lost my way, and it will bring us no good fortune to charge on heedlessly.  Keep your crown on, Aragorn."

            Flick, flick, flick.

            "Boromir, I _know_ you're doing that." The future king grumbled.

            Flick, flick.

            "What, me?" Boromir responded.  "Why would I _ever_ flick the Lord of Gondor?  It would be sacrilege!" He chuckled under his breath.

            "Who said anything about flicking!  Aha!  You have incriminated yourself with your own foolish words!"

            "Aw, dang."

            "But Pippin's doing it!"

            Evidently, the young hobbit had had enough, and allowed the famed Tookish aggression to emerge.  Pippin lobbed a medium sized (that is, smaller than halfling's feet) rock at Frodo.  "Shut _up_!"

            CLUNK!  Frodo toppled over with the force of the strike.

            "Mr. Frodo!" Sam sprung from his lazy position to kneel by his master's side.  "Are you killed?"

            "Pippin did it!" The ring-bearer's pointer finger rose above the rest of his floored form to accentuate his point.  "Pippin _did_ it!  Pippin _killed_ me!"

            "He's killed!" Sam wailed.

            Gandalf removed himself from his 'think mode' and approached the conflicted group of hobbits angrily.  "Peregrin Took!?  I _saw_ that!"

            "He was only defending himself!" Merry complained, not really understanding Frodo's unreasonable tick, but not having any qualms about speaking against him either.

            "Why is it that some hobbits act like humans of their approximate height?  That is, like children?" Gandalf loomed.

            Pippin shrunk back.  "Well see, I'm only twenty-eight, and hobbits aren't adults until thirty-three, so-"

            "You are on a perilous quest!  _He_ is the ring-bearer!  Next time it will be your head!"

            Frodo sat up abruptly, knocking Sam over in the process.  "Yeah!"

            "He's alive!" Sam realized, struggling to his feet.  "I thought you were killed!"

            "Gandalf, who is this person?"

            "I assure you it is _perfectly_ scientific." Gandalf nodded, a slightly hyper gleam in his eyes.

            "You propose," Gimli stared at the strange contraption.  "To use this to _divine_ our way through these tunnels?  Madness!"

            It was none other than the famed Wheel of Fate and Fortune®, complete with flashing neon lights, and a delightful 'blip, blip' sound that played when the Wheel was spun.  Some rumored that Radagast the Brown had used the wondrous Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to strengthen his stock portfolio, consequently nearly costing him his fortune when the bureau found out… but that is another story, and who cares about the stock market anyway?  I don't!  (A/N: Note that this speaker is remarkably without any money whatsoever, so it figures.)

            "It will perform exactly as we need it to." Gandalf sniffed, caressing the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® reassuringly.  "And it doesn't appreciate being spoken about so skeptically."

            "One quick question." Merry hazarded.  "How in Eru's name have you been carrying that thing around without any of us noticing?  It's bigger than _me_!"

            "That's no real feat." Legolas mumbled.

            "_Hey_!" The hobbits took offense.

            "What!?" Legolas grinned confidently.  "I only said, 'those are real big feet'."

            That comment seemed to crack Frodo's controlled countenance.  He tossed the same rock that had been earlier used to bean him.  Naturally, Legolas caught it easily, brushed the dirt off of it, and added it to his collection of 'clean rocks,' right next to the box of 'clean leaves,' and to the right of the 'clean dirt.'  There had been some speculation among the group as to how exactly _dirt_ could be clean, but everybody concluded that if anybody could do it, Legolas could.

            "Use your head, Meriadoc!" Gandalf scolded.  "What would a wizard _be_ without magic?  Magic has brought the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to our aid.  Now, we have the passage on the left, the center, and the right.  Would the ring-bearer please spin the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® to determine _which_ passage we should traverse?"

            "I want Legolas to apologize, first." Frodo sulked, measuring his feet again to assure himself.

            "Oh for Elendil's sake!" Legolas sighed.  "I'm sorry you have tremendous feet, halfling."

            Frodo put away the measuring tape and growled like an animal.  (A/N: I can somehow picture the movie Frodo doing that… kinda like Adam Sandler in the Water Boy?  Do you see it?  No?  I'll go away now.)  "Well, it's Pippin's fault anyway."

            "So I'm responsible for our being short, _and_ our larger than average feet, huh?" The Took glowered.

            "Spin the Wheel, already!" Aragorn tapped his foot impatiently.

            "Indeed." Gandalf forcibly moved Frodo to the foot of the amazing Wheel of Fate and Fortune® and his expression clearly suggested that he either spin it, or face his otherworldly wrath.

            Frodo chose to spin.  He stood on his tiptoes to reach a handhold on the Wheel (think the Price is Right) and applied his energy to the spin.

            Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip!  The Fellowship watched the rotating motion, transfixed by this odd turn, some slightly irked that they were resigning their fate (and the fate of the world) to a game show prop.  Gandalf looked satisfied, however, and seeing as he could roast the other eight heroes together all at once without skipping a beat, they kept silent.

            Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip!  Why did Frodo spin so hard anyway?  The Wheel was still going at a rather fast turn, and Sam could almost feel his brain turning somersaults as his eyes followed the brightly lit object.  It seemed as though it were hypnotizing the whole group with its cheerful promise of direction.

            Blip, blip, blip, blip, blip!  The blips were growing farther and farther apart as the Wheel slowed, tantalizing its audience with the choices available on its glossy surface.

            "A _neeeew_ car!" Gimli announced in the tone of a game show host.  "Mr. Baggins, you have just won a brand new Camaro Convertible!" (A/N: What hey, I like Camaros!)

            Everybody turned to the wizard, vexed.  "A new car?"

            "The Wheel of Fate and Fortune® is _never_ wrong." Gandalf insisted.

            "What's an oliphaunt?" Pippin asked innocently.  "I mean… what's a car?"

            Sam leapt to the center of the group excitedly, folded his arms behind his back as he often did while he recited, and started spouting poetry at the flabbergasted group.  "The golden invention of mass transit, where people get in an' sit, a combustible engine does the trick, to get folks places real quick, called the carriage without the horse, this vehicle has roads for a coarse, driving twice as fast, twice as far, consuming gas, that's a car!" He bowed proudly.  (A/N: Ignore it… it's five in the morning right now!  LOL)

            "Oka~y…" Pippin looked at the fellow hobbit pathetically.  "What's mass transit, combustible engines, vehicles, and I reiterate… what's a car?!"

            "I'm assuming, this is!" Gimli announced, suddenly seated in the driver's seat of a tight looking red convertible Camaro, undoubtedly the gorgeous model from 96… ha, but I _digress_!

            "A _dragon_!" Frodo took a few paces backwards, took a bad step, and fell, pointing at the unusual monster fearfully.  "My butler… he used to tell me about these things!  It's eaten poor Gimli!"

            "That ain't no dragon, Mr. Frodo." Sam shook his head.  "I'd bet my pots and pans that's a car, just like I described to you.  I never thought they really existed!"

            "By Durin's Hammer!" Gimli fiddled with some devices near to the driver's seat, as though he were familiar with them somehow.  "This baby's fully-loaded!  Complete with a CD player, four-wheel drive, surround sound, and a spare tire!  I'd wager this'll get us to Mount Doom a little quicker."

            "Leather interior?" Legolas looked at the dwarf as though he refused to sit on anything less plush than leather.

            Gimli's eyes shined back.  "Better.  It's Mythril, Master Elf!"

            "Good spin!" Boromir shook Frodo's hand sincerely, rocking the hobbit off his feet again.

            "Frodo!  Are you killed?" Sam glared at Boromir.

            "Pippin did it!"

            "The real question is," Aragorn jumped into the front passenger seat.  "Is this really going to help us with the quest?"

            "Doubtless." Gandalf sat into the comfy back seat.  "If the Wheel of Fate and Fortune® deemed to give us this gift of providence, then it will _surely_ assist us."

            Boromir sat himself next to Gandalf.

            Legolas leapt gracefully into the back as well.  "This seating is limited.  We will need to make two trips."

            "No need." Gimli popped the trunk and some hobbits piled in.  "Where to, gov?"

            "To Mordor!" Aragorn lifted a fist into the air triumphantly, closing his eyes in anticipation of the ride.  Unfortunately, his heroic pose was spoiled as the car stalled, groaning embarrassingly.

            "Oh… wait a minute." Gimli tried the ignition again.  "Ahem.  Where to?"

            "To Mordor!" Aragorn _and_ Legolas cheered enthusiastically, shouldering their weapons with brave faces.  The car whined pathetically, but the engine didn't turn over.

            Gimli blushed and slapped the steering wheel.  "Stupid machine.  I hear these are made in Gondor, so what do you expect?"

            "Hey!" Boromir and Aragorn exploded.

            "Alright… third time's the trick, right?  Where to?" Gimli ignored the men's outburst.

            "To Mordor…" Everybody in the car mumbled unhappily.  Naturally, the convertible responded well to this and took off at a goodly pace down the center passage.  Nobody seemed too concerned about their direction, now that they had a spiffy new vehicle to cruise around in.

            "This is amazing!" Sam wiggled his feet outside the open trunk as they bumped down some carved stone steps.  "This is way better than Bill!"

            Somewhere between the entrance to Moria and Bree, a pony dropped dead from lack of love and appreciation, but hey, what am I saying?  That's basically what the movie did to poor Bill anyway, right?  (Funeral services will be held after the fic.)

            Several hours later:

            "This is _truly_ the only way to travel." Aragorn watched the scenery of Moria pass leisurely past, lazily calculating how long it would have taken to cover so much ground on foot.

            "A true miracle." Gimli laughed gruffly, as he expertly guided the Camaro through Moria.  Nobody had the wits to question his affinity for this, the _only_ car in all of Middle Earth… that's our Fellowship, though, those trusting wretches!

            "And to think," Boromir was feeling rather uncomfortable, stuck in between Gandalf, who was practicing some scary sounding incantation, and Legolas, who was snatching flies out of the air, dipping them in some bleach and then adding them to his 'clean stuff' collection.  "To think that if it weren't for the quest and the ring-bearer-"

            "Dang it!" Sam exclaimed.  "We forgot the ring-bearer."

            The car screeched to a halt, and Gimli got out and walked to the trunk.  "Say what, little hobbit?"

            "We left Frodo at the fork in the road." Sam looked quite guilty.

            "You mean we have to go _all_ that way back to get him?!"

            And that is what they _did_!

            They found Frodo looking especially mournful, huddled by the also abandoned Wheel of Fate and Fortune®.  As soon as he noticed the group had returned, he feigned a feverish spell.  "Oh… I wish the Ring had never come to me!  I wish none of this had ever happened!  Pippin did it!!"

            "He's ill!" Sam fell for the act (hey, that's why we love him… so dang gullible).

            Legolas felt a pang of remorse, realizing that of the entire group he should have noticed Frodo's absence.  After all, he was the only one with such good eyesight, fashion sense, mad skills, and of course that elven flair for modesty.  "Why… as cool as I am, could I not prevent this?"

            "He's faking." Gimli said, matter of factly.  "He does that to get attention, haven't you noticed?"

            "Argh!" Frodo continued writhing.  "My so called friends have abandoned me!  Maybe they should give me their Tootsie Rolls to make up for this travesty!"

            "Certainly, Mr. Frodo!" Sam leapt from the trunk, and proceeded to empty the contents of his pack onto Frodo who 'recovered' with a start when Sam's largest pan fell on his face.

            "Who are you, you litterer!?" He rubbed his nose with an injured air.

            "Guess." Pippin suggested dryly.

            Frodo scrutinized Sam, still holding his wounded nose.  "Gimli my chauffer?"

            "You have a chauffer?" Legolas looked impressed.

            "I am _not_ his servant!" Gimli snorted, waiting impatiently behind the steering wheel.  "Now let's get going.  We've wasted enough time here."

            Sam led Frodo to the trunk, happy to have him back.

            "Why do I have to sit in the trunk?!" Frodo complained, the moment he saw his destination.  "I am the _ring-bearer_, after all!"

            "There's no more room in the car." Merry reasoned.  "It's perfectly comfortable back here."

            "Why doesn't Aragorn sit back here, then?"

            "I'm too big." Aragorn snapped.  He was growing tired of Frodo's spoiled attitude, and he was beginning to wonder why fate had given _him_ the Ring.  Naturally, Boromir was having similar thoughts… just a little more on the sinister side of the spectrum.

            "I don't _want_ to sit in the stinking trunk!"

            "FINE!" Gandalf roared.  "You may take _my_ place, and I will take yours.  Happy?"

            Frodo nodded childishly.

            "He's looking at me funny!" It was hours into the drive again, and Frodo was bored, what without Pippin to pick on at the moment.  "Boromir's looking at me!"

            "I… was… not!" Boromir pretended he wasn't, whistling off-key as he had during the flicking incident.

            Frodo crossed his arms stubbornly.  During the course of the quest, he had been reverting strangely back into his infantile bad natured-ness, which Bilbo had tried so hard to correct in him.

            BOOM… BOOOM… BOOOOM!  A faint shudder trembled through the caves, and the Camaro wobbled slightly.  Aragorn's plastic cup of clean drinking water had been sitting in the cup-holder, and the vibrations were creating rings in the liquid.

            BOOOOOM!

            "Look at that!" Aragorn gestured towards the water, fearful of this unforeseen occurrence.  "There's an earthquake?"

            Legolas suddenly tried to stand up in his seat, but fell back, restrained by his seat belt.  The elf immediately began trying to unhook the belt, with little luck.  "I'm stuck!  There's a monster straight ahead!"

            "A monster?" Gimli gazed down the future road.  "I see nothing."

            "I see _better_!" Legolas half informed, half taunted.  "And I see a _monster_!  Put on the brakes!"

            "Is this just some clever way of asking for a pit stop without admitting you forgot to go before we left?  Foolish elves…"

            Boromir began to fancy that he could make out a glowing speck in the distance, which he tried to communicate to Gimli.  The dwarf, was however, currently too indignant to notice.

            "Look!" Legolas struggled with the seat belt, desperate.  "I can't shoot it, because I'm strapped down!"

            "I see it, also!" Aragorn leaned forward.  "It is covered in flames!"

            From the trunk, Gandalf could be heard ranting.  "It is a Balrog of old!  This foe is beyond any of you!  We must flee!"

            Gimli was doing an easy forty-five, not bothering to change his course, regardless of what his companions pleaded.  "It is nothing.  You will see."

            "I have something prepared for just this kind of situation!" Frodo announced, grabbing some pages from his pack that he had written during the long road trip.  Frodo began reading out loud:

"Frodo's Guide to Self Defense

Rule #1: When being confronted by a foe, throw your weapon as far away as possible.  Towards your friends is always a good idea.

Rule #2: Fall flat on your on your butt.

Rule #3: Crawl away from the threat as slowly as possibly, making sure to stare wide-eyed at it.  Maybe they won't notice you!  Or maybe they will…

Rule #4: If they do, finger the Ring suspiciously.

Rule #5: If that didn't scare them away, put the Ring on.  Make sure you stay perfectly still in the same exact spot your enemy saw you disappear.  If you just so happen to be fighting Ringwraiths, you're screwed!

Rule #6: Remember to breathe heavily as you are stabbed to death and throw in an obnoxious scream for good measure.  If you're lucky, a ranger (hopefully a king in disguise) will come to your rescue.  If not, you're still screwed!

Rule #7: Should you survive all this, squeak.  Squeak a whole lot while you breathe, and constantly, because it is really cute.  It makes people want to help you, and that is always good for somebody who's Rule #2 is to fall flat on his butt.

Rule #8: Fall unconscious right when it seems like everything is turning out all right, but you don't want to give up the attention yet.  Let out one great last squeak before you do so.

Epilogue: These survival techniques will protect you against everything except foes who can see you, hear you, smell you, or sense you.  Mostly it helps you gain sympathy from other good guys, which is fun, but is basically the equivalent of painting a big target on your back.  It's up to you whether you prefer pity, or a pulse."

            Frodo finished reading with a look of satisfaction on his face, clearly waiting for a response from the audience.

            "Well I could have told you _that_." Aragorn responded, folding his arms.

            "That was wonderful, Mr. Frodo!" Sam clapped from the trunk.

            Merry's critique could be heard, though rather breathless from fear of the oncoming danger.  "That was dumb!"

            "Oh," Frodo crumpled up the paper and threw it outside of the car.  "I thought so too, because Pippin wrote it."

            Sam didn't question this (despite the fact that the story was called 'Frodo's Guide To Self-Defense), and promptly joined Frodo's opinion.  "Pippin, I didn't know you were so uncreative!"

            "Why are we discussing Frodo's stupid literature at a time like this?!" Pippin clenched his teeth.  "We're about to become Middle-Earth Munchies!  Stop the car!"

            The dwarf finally realized that there _was_ indeed a Balrog intended for a collision into their shiny new car.  "Full reverse!" He switched gears fluidly, looked over his shoulder, and started racing the convertible backwards.  "Hold on in the back!"

            The Balrog pursued them furiously, swinging its fiery whip at the hood.  It was so close now, that Legolas could feel all his clean flies popping in their bag from the heat.

            "Now _this_ is Pod Racing!" Frodo cheered, folding his arms behind his head.

            The havoc in the trunk was ridiculous.  Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Gandalf were being tossed around with no seat belts to speak of.  Pippin anchored himself to the spare tire and looked at the rapidly passing caverns.

            "Gimli!" He called, wide-eyed with terror.  "Watch where you're going!  We're about to crash into a-"

            Too late.  The Camaro drove over a lumpy rock protrusion, launching everybody to one side violently.  Gandalf, too large to cling to the small space, flew from the trunk helplessly.

            "Gandalf!!!" The three hobbits watched him disappear under the car.

            BUMP!  BUMP!

            "What was that!?" Boromir screeched, referring to the strange object they had just careened over.  The Balrog tromped over a discarded, grayish lump.

            "The Western Shores forbid!" Aragorn wailed.  "We just ran over Gandalf the Gray!"

            Frodo stopped enjoying the ride at that moment.  "Pippin did _what_!?"

            "We'll crash for sure if we keep this up!" Gimli announced.  "Who agrees with me that we should take this threat on headlong?"

            "NOOOOO!!" Was the unanimous reply.  Everybody held on to their seats, began praying, and generally accepted their upcoming deaths as the driver switched gears again.

            "This is for my kin!" Gimli shouted war cries as he slammed the car right into the flaming monster.


	3. Concerning Troublesome Trouble

SCENE MISSING 

            "It's a good thing I had my seatbelt on!" Legolas dusted himself off thankfully, standing safely next to the remainders of the Fellowship.

            Aragorn regarded the totaled car thoughtfully.  "That was the most action-packed escape of my life!  _Nobody_ should miss hearing about it!"

            "They won't." Sam grimaced at the defeated Balrog.  "It's the best part of the whole story, anyhow."

            "We're all here, then?" Merry began counting heads.

            "Except for my personal fortune teller, Gandalf." Frodo does the whole 'crying kid in a third world country' thing.  "Gandalf's dead, and Bilbo's a senile old fart.  Somebody please adopt me!"

            "Fret not!" Aragorn patted him on the back so hard he fell over.  "I will lead the quest!" He flashed some brilliantly white teeth to compliment his moment of glory.

            "And there's the exit now!" Gimli pointed, relieved.  "It's certainly fortunate that I was able to handle the car with such unswerving skill, that we were able to put an end to that foul beast of nightmare!  Long live the dwarves!"

            "Uh… yeah." Pippin sighed.  "Can we just go now?"

            "Somebody should consider making this a new contest for the Shire's parties!" Merry huffed.  "They could call it 'Tug of Dwarf'."

            "Not funny." Boromir complained, trying desperately to pull Gimli by the arm.

            "Come on, it's just another forest!" Aragorn reasoned, dragging the dwarf's other arm compellingly.

            Gimli displayed some classic dwarven personality, stubbornly planting his boots into the soft earth just outside the entrance to the wood in question.  "I will not go, you can't make me!"

            "But it's a beautiful place!" Legolas insisted, doing his part by pushing Gimli from behind.  "And we have to pass through."

            Aragorn marveled at the dwarf's resistance to the three strong companions efforts.  They had made small progress, and Gimli had barely moved past the original spot where he had stopped short.  "What's the matter, anyway?  Do you feel that this forest is possessed?"

            "Not at all.  It's just that I heard some rather conspicuous breathing coming from that general direction," he pointed.  "And I'm guessing there are a troop of elves in wait to ambush us."

            The troop in question emerged from their concealed place in the wood, letting their bows hang loosely by their sides.  "Awh.  How'd you guess?"

            "Elves are noisy."

            It was fortunate for the Fellowship, because the new elven acquaintances were willing to show them the way to their grand dwelling Lothlorien.  Providing that the Fellowship abided by a few old woodland traditions.

            "The dwarf will need to wear this blindfold, as none of his kind are permitted to see the glorious trail to Lothlorian." One of the new elves explained, holding out a purple blindfold and looking superior.

            Gimli responded badly to this blatant racism, gripping his axe hilt and eying the forest dwellers angrily.

            "Then," Legolas noticed the dwarf's fury, and decided to lighten the atmosphere.  "We shall all be blinded, because we travel as one.  Though I dearly regret missing the trees."

            "You all would do that?" Another of the stranger elves looked suddenly excited.  "You will _all_ wear the blindfolds?"

            "Of course." Aragorn nodded.  "Come Gimli, will you go now?"

            Gimli released the hilt, and looked slightly consoled.

            "Very well!" The elves clasped their hands, strangely delighted.  "If that is the case, we can carry on with our other important traditions!"

            Frodo was about to ask what the other traditions were, when an elf began roughly tying a piece of cloth over his eyes.

            "Now, none of you can see?" The elf's voice asked the sightless Fellowship.

            "No.  We can't see.  Would you please lead us through the forest?" Boromir held out both of his hands searchingly, still getting used to the blindness.

            Sam felt one of the elves grab his wrist firmly.  Instead of guiding him through the wood, however, the elf began twirling him around and around.

            "Hey!" Sam heard Frodo complain, obviously being treated to the same dizzying treatment.  "What are you doing?  Is that _you_, Pippin!?"

            Pippin could barely let out a "No," before everyone heard him thud onto the soft earth, probably from dizziness.

            "This is one of Lothlorien's sacred traditions!" One of the elves explained, trying his best to make Legolas dizzy.  Legolas seemed immune, however.

            The whole Fellowship was subjected to the strange 'tradition' before Merry was finally handed some small, object with a sharp end.

            "What is this?"

            "You must move forward and stick it into the tree in front of you." The explanation was hardly satisfactory.

            "Why?"

            "This is our tradition.  Do it!"

            Merry shrugged, and put out his empty hand to feel towards this supposed tree.  He was quite disoriented after all the spinning, and marveled at how uneven the forest floor seemed all of a sudden.  His fingertips finally brushed against rough bark.  "You want me to put this on the tree?"

            "Of course."

            "Just do it, so we can get on with the quest!" Aragorn advised.

            Merry had the strange impression that, were he to remove the blindfold, he would find everybody else standing around him, laughing.  He stuck the sharp end of the unknown object into the tree, anyway, feeling foolish.

            "Ah, very good!" The nearest elf exclaimed happily.  "Now the dwarf's turn!"

            Gimli repeated the activity, grumbling about how useless it seemed.

            Boromir followed, then Pippin, and then Sam.  Everything seemed to be going quite smoothly for the elves' 'tradition…' at least until they got to Frodo.

            "I don't wanna… it's stupid, and I can't even see what I'm doing!" He argued, as another mysterious object was placed in his hand.  It felt something like a fabric paintbrush with a nail through one end.

            Someone pushed the stubborn halfling gently from behind, urging him to complete the task.

            Frodo dug his feet (have I mentioned how large his feet are?) into a clump of pine needles, which gave no traction.  The hands on his back kept pushing him forward.

            "You know, Merry," Frodo said.  "What you were saying earlier, about the Shire's parties?  Doesn't this situation seem to correspond with that somehow?"

            The other hobbit thought about it.  "What do you mean?"

            "Blindfolds… being dizzy…" Despite Frodo's struggles, he could feel his nose pressing against the target tree.  "This seems just like…" He obstinately ripped the blindfold from his eyes.

            The elves, who were moments before giggling and smiling, all broke into gasps.  "He took off the blindfold!  He's cheating!"

            Frodo used his reclaimed vision to examine the tree.  He had to take a few steps backwards to get a good look, since the elves had pushed him right up against it.

            "Frodo!" Legolas was wailing.  "You've disrespected the elves!"

            "I think it's the other way around." Frodo scowled, examining the object in his hand.  "Pin the tail on the donkey, huh?"

            That seemed to be the last clue Boromir needed.  He also removed the blind and stared in disbelief at the scene.

            There was a wide tree with a crudely designed donkey traced on its bark with chalk, but the kicker was the fabric tails stuck in random places around it.  The Lothlorian elves looked moderately horrified, and there was a trio a distance off preparing a piñata and some bats.

            "So!" Gimli blinked against the light, blindfold in his hand.  "Some _tradition_!"

            One of the pranksters looked humbly at the angry visitors, all of which were tearing their blindfolds off.  "We can explain."

            Legolas shook his head.  "Please do!  The elves in Mirkwood would never _hear_ of such nonsense!"

            "Well, you see," The elf studied his shoe as he traced a line in the dirt with his toe.  "Parties just aren't any fun around here!  None of the elves can become dizzy!"

            "Of course they can't." Legolas snorted knowledgably.  "We're always perfectly balanced!"

            "So when we saw some foreigners, we thought…"

            "_Haldir_!!" A sonorous new voice exclaimed angrily.  "Please say that my eyes, and extra sensory perceptions are deceiving me!"

            "Lady Galadriel!" Haldir turned, looking embarrassed as though caught raiding a cookie jar.  "What are you doing away from your realm?"

            "A more valuable question," The white-clad lady of the wood replied silkily.  "Would be one addressed to you."

            The elves trembled.  "What might that be?"

            "What are my officers of the border doing, disfiguring our ancient trees in such a manner?  Those punctures may never heal." She looked sorrowful.  "And certainly, _we_ will never see them repaired during our remaining stay in Middle-Earth."

            "Pippin did it." Frodo nodded, as if sympathizing with Galadriel's grief.

            She turned as though on wheels to take in the Fellowship.  "The travelers.  I have been expecting you for some time.  Perhaps after my kin do what they can to _fix_ this disappointment, they may attempt their duties and escort you to my home." She departed after giving a dangerous glance to Haldir, who was already desperately trying to scrape chalk off the tree.

            It's about time for some more abridgements, don't you agree?  Right then, let's get on with it: Celeborn welcomes the Fellowship to Lothlorian, while Galadriel reads everyone's minds and implants subtle 'eat at Joe's' messages in the backs of their subconscious.  Legolas jumps for joy all over the place, nearly falling over a ledge when distracted by a spiffy looking tree.

            And now as expected, I skip to a faster method: Mirror.  Premonitions.  Temptation.  Freak-out mode.  Passed the test.  Lembas.  Boats.  Presents.  Goodbye.

            "What are you _doing_!?" Sam waved his hands frantically, rocking the boat that he, Frodo, and Aragorn were sharing.

            "Me?" Frodo quickly retrieved the Ring from falling into the river, where he had been letting it dangle.  "Nothing.  Who are you?  How'd you get into this boat without swimming out to us?  You should be all wet."

            Sam sighed, a little green from the sickening sway of the boat.  "I got on when you did.  I can't swim, Mr. Frodo."

            "Aha!" Frodo pointed at him, as though that was a startling revelation.

            "Keep it down." Aragorn growled, paddling the boat along.  "We're coming up to a nifty landmark that I want to see."

            And so there was.  Two towering statues, on both riverbanks.  Men carved from stone, with their hands outstretched greeted the journeyers.

            "They're very ancient." Aragorn informed the uninterested hobbits.  "How I've longed to… here now, what's going on?"

            Both statues spontaneously sank down to the depths of the river, and out of sight.  A few curious bubbles played around the surface where they once were.

            Frodo rose to his feet, grasping the edge of the boat with one hand and pointing venomously to another of the boats with his other.  "Pippin did it!!"

            "He did _not_!" Merry called back, shaking his fist.

            (A/N: Why did that happen?  Simple.  A group of efficient dwarves were tunneling out a new cave deep beneath the waterbed, and decided to make the statues decorations for their new living room.  Naturally!)

            "I see strange looking orcs approaching from the other side of the river," Legolas informed Aragorn.  They were anchoring their boats to the shore.

            "How far?"

            "A few hours.  They are unlike any orcs I've ever seen.  And they have… hotdogs with them."

            Gimli rolled his eyes.  "Are you trying to make us believe that you can see a troupe of orcs _hours_ in the distance _so_ well, you can even make out their _lunch_!?"

            Legolas looked offended.  "Of _course_ not."

            "I thought you might be exaggerating," Gimli nodded.

            "Quite the opposite.  I can also make out the ketchup, mustard, and each individual onion on said hotdogs." Legolas shielded his eyes from the sun.  "Not to mention the sesame seeds on the hotdog buns."

            Gimli looked murderous, and most of the Fellowship attempted to prevent a battle between the elf and dwarf.  Thus it was that they missed Frodo and Boromir exiting the group.

            Frodo looked back and forth hopefully, holding the Ring in front of him with two fingers.  "Let's see now."  He was disappointed that there weren't any ridiculously tall trees to leave the Ring in, and it was long past time for him to try something obnoxious.

            "Frodo?" Boromir had emerged from the wood (darn those short trees!) apparently searching for firewood.  "You shouldn't go wandering off all by yourself."

            Frodo retracted the ring and balled both his fists, looking like a child going into a tantrum.  "_No_!  You can't have it!!"

            Boromir looked confused.  "What?"

            "You won't take the Ring from me!  I won't let you!"

            "The Ring?" Boromir looked at the firewood he had collected so far.  "Actually, I just want to start a fire."

            Frodo looked evil.  "You can't fool me!  I know what you're planning!"

            "Huh?" Boromir dropped the wood as Frodo suddenly disappeared into thin air.  "Frodo!?  Gurk."

            "Hmph," Frodo exclaimed, pulling Sting from Boromir's lifeless body.  "Uh…" He suddenly realized that in a fit of strangeness, he had killed a member of the Fellowship.  "Well… Pippin did it!"  That settled, he skipped back to resume the group.

            "Well," Legolas continued spying at the orcs.  "It seems they've all eaten their hotdogs now.  They'll need to make a snack stop."

            "This is ridiculous!" Gimli raged.

            "Hm, I thought so." Legolas said snootily.  "They're going to Sonic for some hamburgers.  We don't have to worry about them anymore."

            "Why not?" Aragorn didn't look convinced.

            "Because Sonic has such slow service!"  (A/N: Not really.  It just so happens that the day I wrote this I mysteriously waited about twenty minutes for a cherry coke.)

            "Oh…" Aragorn turned from the elf, whose sanity he was questioning, and saw Frodo returning.  "Hey, we were looking for you!"

            Frodo nodded distractedly, seating himself in the midst of the (remaining) Fellowship, turning the Ring over and over in his hand.  "Oh?"

            "Yes!" Sam exhaled.  "We thought that maybe Boromir had cornered you and tried to take the Ring or some such far-fetched thing.  Nothing like that happened, did it, Mr. Frodo?"

            The ring-bearer stared at Sam as though he were a total stranger that had started gibbering a foreign language at him.  "What?  _Who_ the _heck_ are you!?"

            Pippin grabbed Frodo's shoulders roughly and gave him a few shakes.  "It's _Sam_!  Sam!  Sam!  Say it!"

            "Aaaaaiiiiiii!" Frodo responded to the shaking with a wail.  "Let go of me, you filthy murderer!"

            The other companions exchanged confused looks.

            "Murderer?" Merry prompted.

            "You may have gotten away with stabbing Boromir in the woods," Frodo heaved, still fiddling with the Ring.  "But you're not going to kill me so easily!  I'm on to you!"  He took in the unconvinced faces of those around him and added, "Pippin did it!"

            "Not that we should be taking any of this seriously," Gimli said.  "But where _is_ Boromir?"

            "You don't actually _think_…" Pippin started, feeling as if on trial.  "I mean… none of you guys would think I was capable of killing… you don't, right?"

            "Ha _ha_!" Frodo pointed at the Took.  "You see?  Pippin did it!"

            Aragorn sighed gravely.  He was becoming terribly sick of hobbits.  "We need to check and see if there's anything that's been 'done' at all.  You mentioned the woods, Frodo?"

            "Yes!" He pointed excitedly.  "Right through there!  Why'd you _do_ it, Pippin?"

            Pippin searched the ground for a good-sized rock, but decided it was a bad time to be acting violently and let the thought of crunching Frodo's head with a rock drop.  "Well, _I_ didn't do anything."

            They all marched in the direction Frodo pointed to make sure.

            A dead silence invaded the scene.  Even birds and insects refused to chirp at the moment, allowing the lessened Fellowship a moment of shock at the discovery of Boromir's dead body.

            Frodo threw his hand over his mouth in mock horror, even calling forth a bit of moisture in his eyes, but that was an old trick that he'd perfected a _long_ time ago.

            Pippin was feeling rather uncomfortable about the fact that he had a knife at his belt at the moment, and that the victim had been stabbed to death.  It was just too great of a coincidence for Frodo to prey upon, so he decided to break the un-middle-earthy silence.  "I didn't kill him!  I was with you guys the whole time, and we all know that Frodo was missing for a while!"

            "Are you accusing Frodo!?" Sam bristled, inching closer to his master 'just in case.'

            "Well it just makes sense…"

            "Can anybody say for sure that Frodo wasn't with us, and _Pippin_ was missing during the time of the murder?" Legolas narrowed his eyes shiftily.

            Aragorn shrugged.  "All hobbits look the same to me.  Could have been."

            "I didn't notice." Gimli added.

            "Sam," Pippin said desperately.  "_You_ knew Frodo was gone!  You were calling him!  Tell them that I was there, and Frodo was in the forest!"

            Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Frodo suddenly interrupted him.  "I was taking a nap near the shore and was definitely _nowhere_ near the forest… remember?  Sam?"

            "He remembers me!" Sam rejoiced, hands clasped.  "He knows who I am!"

            "Yeah!" Frodo stuck his tongue out at Pippin… victory was near!  "So clear my name, Sam old buddy!  Tell them how you saw Pippin sneaking off into the woods… and about how you saw me sleeping innocently away from any crime scenes."

            The Took's jaw dropped.  "Sam… you wouldn't…"

            "Well," Sam looked momentarily plagued with guilt, but that melted into pure joy that Frodo was being his friend.  "I _did_ see Pippin leave… and Boromir, too.  And good Mr. Frodo, he was just snoozing away, after all that scary boating we did.  I'd testify that he was too tired to kill anybody."

            "Now wait a _minute_!" Merry interjected, alarmed.  "That's a lie!  Pippin was with us!  I was talking to him!"

            "Yeah, listen to Merry!" Pippin nodded hopefully.  "He knows everything!"

            "Everything, huh?" Aragorn considered the different statements shrewdly.  "I find it strange that a hobbit could slay a man of Gondor at any rate.  Meriadoc?"

            "Yeah?"

            "If I were to ask you, which of the hobbits of this company would be most _capable_ of accomplishing such a task, which would you say?  After all, you know everything." The ranger added the last with a sarcastic grin.

            "Er…" Merry thought about this.  "Well… I have to admit that Frodo seems kind of weak…"

            "Pippin did it." Frodo agreed, becoming more confident by the moment.

            "Merry!?" The Took despaired.

            "Well?  You are the tallest and strongest out of us!" Merry explained guiltily.  "That's just what you get for being born a Took!"

            "That settles it for me." Legolas said with closure.

            "I can't believe it." Gimli shook his head at Pippin regretfully.  "How dishonorable."

            "Must have stabbed him in the back." Aragorn commented, trying to maintain the pride of Gondor.  (Can't have halflings picking off members of the great race of men, now can we?)

            Pippin suddenly found himself surrounded by the taller members of the group… and Sam who was thrilled that Frodo was no longer suspected.  "What are you going to do?"

            "Well, we can't take you with us." Legolas said coldly.  "Never know when you could 'snap' and murder us in our sleep.  That would _ruin_ my hair!"

            "Agreed." Aragorn said.  "Well… not about the hair, but…"

            Merry was infuriated.  "Are you all crazy!?  Frodo set this up!"

            Frodo just smiled in satisfaction, twirling the Ring around.

            "We can't let you go." Gimli continued the sentencing.  "We don't need _another_ stalker hiding in the shadows."

            "Yeah," Aragorn agreed.  "We've already got Gollum for that.  So we can't take you, and we can't let you go…" He seemed to have difficulty coming up with a suitable solution.

            "Ooo!" Legolas exclaimed loudly.  "I haven't shot anything for _hours_!  I've been dying to try out this nifty bow that the Lothlorien elves made especially for me!" He looked uncharacteristically giddy.  "Can I, Aragorn?  Can I?"

            "You can't _shoot_ me!" Pippin cried.  "Say no!  Say no!"

            "Hmmm…" Aragorn seemed to be stuck again.

            Sam looked fretful.  "I'm sure glad you're innocent, Mr. Frodo.  I wouldn't have let them execute _you_, though."

            "Oh…" Aragorn turned to Legolas reluctantly.  "Alright, go ahead.  Man, who needs Gandalf?  I make _great_ decisions!"

            "Yay!" Legolas began digging through his quiver happily.  "Here it is!  The pretty blue one.  So cool!" He picked a psycho-looking arrow from the rest.  "They don't make them like this in Mirkwood!"

            Pippin had resorted to pleading.  "Don't shoot me!  I didn't do it!  Frodo did it!  I'm… I'm still a minor, dang it!"

            Legolas didn't seem interested in the probable last words.  He readied the bow, notching the strange arrow.

            Obviously, the pleading stage was over.  Pippin looked resolved to death… to _Frodo's_ death, that is.  He charged past Aragorn and tackled Frodo, sending them both tumbling down a short hill.

            "Ow!"

            "You little!"

            "Let go!"

            "What is the _matter_ with you?"

            Legolas lowered the arrow in disappointment.  "Hey!  He was supposed to hold still!" He listened to the fighting hobbits in disgust.

            "Mr. Frodo!" Sam declared, joining the fray valiantly.

            "Pippin!" Merry called, also leaping in to defend his cousin.

            Aragorn looked sleepy.  "I'm so sick of hobbits."

            "I think I might have _four_ of these spiffy arrows!" Legolas offered.

            The brawl continued.  "No!  The Ring!  That's _mine_!"

            "Hmph!" Pippin emerged from the whirling melee, looking pleased.  "I'm _sick_ of this quest, _sick_ of this Fellowship, and especially sick of _you_, Frodo!" His hand was clenched around something.

            The other three hobbits stopped dueling, and Sam rubbed his bruised cheek.  "Give the Ring back to Mr. Frodo!"

            "I'm the ring-bearer." Frodo added, looking desperate.  "I'm supposed to destroy that Ring!  Pippin stole my Ring!  Pippin did it!"

            Legolas re-notched the arrow.  "Now, Aragorn?"

            "What the heck?  Why not?" Aragorn waved his hand without concern.

            "No!" Merry continued the defense.  "Stop trying to shoot him!"

            Legolas and Pippin glared at each other unblinkingly.  Pippin started taking steps backwards, hoping to have Frodo in the line of fire as well, if worst came to worst.

            "Mr. _Frodo_!" Sam gasped, noticing the plot.  "Get out of the way!" He shoved Frodo roughly aside, and out of harm's way.

            Frodo landed on the ground with a crash, and his backpack fell open, distributing his possessions beneath the trees.  Of particular notice was the moldy pot of soup, which settled on the dirt with a disruptive clanging noise.

            "What is that _smell_!?" Legolas whined, dropping the bow and arrow in favor of waving the unsettling aroma away from his face.

            Nobody was really sure what quite happened next, what with the putrid smell making everybody's eyes water too much to see clearly.  There was the sound of shuffling feet (_big_, _HUGE_ feet) as Pippin made a mad dash towards the pot of soup, and some more shuffling sounds of feet (slightly smaller _big, HUGE_ feet) as Frodo tried to tackle him.  Then there was a sizzling noise, and the air became even thicker with the scent of aged peas.  Frodo yelled loudly, and Pippin made a triumphant noise… and then all was very, very quiet as everybody wiped the tears from their eyes.

            The silence prevailed even after the group's eyesight had returned.  Frodo was sitting on the grass dejectedly, ignoring Sam's consoling pats on the shoulder.  Pippin looked thoroughly relieved, peering in the pot of soup as if to make sure of something.

            "What happened?" Gimli finally asked.

            "The Ring," Frodo sniffled.  "The Ring went into the pot of moldy soup!"

            "So?" Aragorn wondered if he should suggest a target for Legolas to shoot at, but it didn't seem like the right situation.  What _was_ the situation, anyway?

            "I thought the Ring could only be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom?" Merry asked, also seeming relieved.

            Legolas retrieved his dropped weapon, but didn't make to fire at anybody.  "That's right.  That's what we're _supposed_ to be doing."

            "So," Sam filled in the blanks.  "Does that mean that the moldy pot of soup has the same potency as the fires in Mordor?"

            "Or it's even stronger!" Pippin rejoiced.  "Because the Ring's destroyed!  It's nowhere in the soup!"

            Frodo sobbed at this revelation, covering his face with his hands.

            "It's been destroyed?" Aragorn didn't believe it, so he checked the pot of moldy soup for himself.  "Of all the loony things to happen… it _is_ gone."

            "Then the quest is over," Gimli said profoundly.  "We have succeeded!"

            Sam struck his forehead.  "We were carrying that soup around with us the whole time!"

            "Well, halflings aren't worthless after all!" Legolas decided.  "How'd you know to try that anyway?"

            Suddenly, Frodo stopped pouting and stood up straight.  "_I_ did it!  It was me."

            Pippin was going to argue this point, and explain that _he_ had dropped the Ring into the pot of moldy soup, but Merry shook his head in warning.  "Let it go, Pip."

            "_I_ did it!" Frodo grew happier with every claim.  "I completed the quest!  It was _all_ me!"

            "I only have _one_ question." Pippin said, reassuring Merry that he wasn't going to spoil Frodo's good mood by revealing who _actually_ obliterated Sauron.  "How, in all of Middle Earth, did you get the Ring in the tree that one time?"

            Frodo looked slightly annoyed, but was still in pretty great humor.  "Well come on!  Didn't you notice how close Gwaihir was when my personal fortuneteller called him?  Why would the lord of all eagles just be in the neighborhood like that?  _I_ did it!"

            "That big old eagle agreed to do that for you, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked cheerfully.

            "Huh!?  Who are _you_?"

            And so ended the (not-so) perilous quest.  If anybody told you that there were an entire two more books in this story, they were wrong.  It ended there.  What do you mean you don't believe me?  Just look for yourself!  It ended right up there.  No more story.  That's all there is, and that is the TRUTH about Frodo.  You heard it here first, dear readers.

GWFan: Well that's not _exactly_ it; we still have to do author's notes.  So why do we have to do author's notes anyway?

Elly: It's all the rage.

GWFan: That's insane…

Elly: So anyway, there are more installments to this TRUTH series, we just haven't written them yet.

GWFan: Although, if you do happen to see them later on and these author notes still say they are unborn, just ignore Elly.  In fact, don't worry about it at all, just ignore Elly.

Elly: Hey!  Well anyway, mail goes to DancingMoogle@hotmail.com

GWFan: Now wasn't that not gay?  We thought we'd be giving people the wrong idea with the title… hope nobody's disappointed.

Elly: We done our best.

            Somewhere on the road between Bree and Moria, a lone tombstone stood quietly.  The inscription read as follows:

            Here lies Un-beloved Bill, who served a fat hobbit well, but died as a result of blasphemous words.

            Let us all bow our heads in respect of poor departed Bill, and bestow a moment of silence.


End file.
